Begin at the End
by CodeLazurus
Summary: We won't begin at the beginning; we'll start at the end and go on from there. This is the story of how John Watson died and what happened next.


1925

John Watson was eight years old when he died.

It was a tragic accident, a tale that his family would always remember but would soon fade without anyone to tell his story. And that's exactly what happened.

With a family as dysfunctional as his one would have to wonder why he hadn't died earlier. His father, an alcoholic, was a parasite to mankind. He spoke unkind words to poor Harriet and raised a fist to his wife – who was a coward by anyone's standards (one of the many reasons why John had met his demise).

Now Leighan - spouse of Maxwell Watson – was considered fragile. She was pretty, and if not described as that the next best word would be beautiful. She was sensible in every aspect of her life and only expected the best. Well, almost every aspect. Her choice in men left much to be desired.

And finally Harriet, who liked to be called Harry, was the best thing that could have ever happened to John. She was everything their mother wasn't and took the role of his main caretaker. Strong, loyal, independent, she would do anything to protect him.

That was another reason why John had left the world so early.

Now, his father hadn't always been so mean and his mother hadn't always been so delicate. No, the change happened so slowly that even the people around them hadn't noticed something was off until it was too late.

So, that begged the question, how would a story continue without a storyteller?

The answer was simple; it couldn't.

Maxwell, although still an alcoholic, saw the error in his ways and refused to say anything related to their now dead son (and fortunately stopped with his abuse). Leighan rarely said anything anymore, and Harriet pretended like nothing ever happened; a shock mechanism embedded into the brains of those whom expected a traumatic encounter.

And so they forgot about him and went on with their lives like there never was a John to begin with.

* * *

"How long will I be dead for?"

"Forever I think, although no one's ever _really_ proved that they haven't stayed dead," the girl smiled and proceeded to pop the Legos back into place.

"So will I become a zombie?" Her counterpart furrowed his eyebrows in genuine confusion.

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

* * *

At age sixteen John Watson decided that he was _bored_.

Life after death wasn't anything noteworthy, in fact was everything anyone ever imagined it to be. It was a place where all good souls go to rest, a palace for unfortunate beings, and a prison of guilt to those who don't deserve mercy. What it wasn't though was paradise.

Every waking moment was filled with the same monotony as the day before. Nothing ever changed, and soon everything blended together.

When someone arrives they experience everything anew. They take in every detail like it would be their last (which is quite funny seeing as to how they're dead so what could possibly prevent them from seeing it again?) and wonder how anyone could become indifferent to something so breathtakingly beautiful.

But as always, after years of being exposed to the same thing they begin to tire of it. They grow anxious, and start to resent that they were good people in the first place.

Good thing John wasn't most people though.

True, he was growing weary of the so called "Heaven" but never once did he think him being good was a bad thing.

But maybe that's why when he did get a second chance he wasn't the same as before.

* * *

"You said that no one ever really stays dead right?"

"No, I said that no one's ever _proved_ that they've stayed dead. There's a difference. Why?"

"Just wondering."

* * *

When John Watson turned twenty he met someone unexpected.

Time is different up where he is.

Every day goes seamlessly with each other that sometimes he forgets that time is not actually time. Time was created by mankind as a way to keep track of things. How old someone was, how long something must cook for, it was basically a giant organizer that everyone used.

But up in Heaven, there was no time because no one needed it.

There was only one person keeping track of it and that was John Watson. Sure there might have been some before him, but none actually kept up with it. They'd be tracking forever basically, but that's why John always knew his birthday and how old he was. Or how much time he had spent up in his own little purgatory.

So it was odd to see his sister up there only twelve years after him.

When he had told her of his confusion she just gave him a look of pure awe. At first she hadn't recognized him, probably mistaking him for a creepy man – which was laughable for how could someone like that be up there? – But soon realized that it was indeed her baby brother.

She spoke of missing him every waking moment, but he had a hard time believing that, and corrected him on his conception of time. From the moment he died to the second they met was more or less twenty years.

He had been shocked of course, but readjusted rather quickly. What he didn't know was why his sister had died so young. Sure it wasn't twelve years later, but death in her thrities was still fairly young.

It turned out she was an alcoholic. No one ever needs to say more about that right?

(Although the reason why she was in Heaven had to do with the fact she wasn't always a drunkard. Sometimes she was the hero, and in John's case she was the hero that arrived at the scene a bit too late.)

* * *

"I think I found a way to live again."

"Metaphorically speaking?" She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a sign of nervousness.

Pause.

"Yeah, metaphorically speaking, "

Wrong.

* * *

And when John Watson was turned thirty five he decided enough was enough.

Of course his sister begged him to stay, and he almost did. It wasn't that he wanted to leave her, he just felt like he had unfished business. Like his time on Earth was too short and he needed retribution.

It was something he had felt for quite a while, but ignored it for the sake of his sister, his protector. As it was though, the past does not leave anyone and eventually his desire to go back to Earth grew stronger day by day.

And so, without his sister's supervision, he did.

* * *

Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.

**-H.P Lovecraft**


End file.
